


Flying is hard, okay?

by your_cringy_father



Category: Hermitcraft, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, GrianMC - Freeform, Hermitcraft - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Just happy times, One-Shot, Python - Freeform, This is my longest fic so far god, hermits, it gets bad near the end but its worth it ok, this fic took so long to finish, this isnt a ship but it kinda reads like one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-14 22:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20608727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/your_cringy_father/pseuds/your_cringy_father
Summary: Python is DONE with dying during end busts, and tries to request help from some people around him.He encounters one crazy dude instead.





	Flying is hard, okay?

It was common knowledge that Python wasn’t good at flying. 

No one really held it against him though. The guy was mostly creeper, with some thrown in snake dna or some weirdly red reptile-- the point being that he wasn’t really made to fly. No, Python was much more of a ground man. Plants, flowers, saplings and flower pots. He did his business just fine, walking from one place to another or using the dolphin’s grace to swim from one location to another. Soon, he’d even use Ren’s railway system, so he certainly wasn’t static in movement. 

But that didn’t mean there were moments where he really needed to be good at it. 

A premonition that came to him only short of dying in the End for the THIRD time that week, and losing his precious shulker boxes full of valuables. It wasn’t enough to set him back to first steps, but it punched the gut of his pride and seemed to be enough to stop him from returning for a depressing couple days.   
Python trotted over to his shulker shop, shame already in the pit of his stomach. He peered into the chests, seeing them all swamped with diamonds, which was great, but completely empty of stock.   
He ran a variously splotched hand of red down his face, pinching the bridge of his rather inhuman nose. 

He really needed to remake the hundreds of shulkers he had before, but getting them required End busting, which required him to fly or ender pearl-- two things he had non-verbally banned himself from doing there from the countless times he’s fallen to his death. He could just build across to the islands. A shiver runs down his spine as he thinks about shift building one block bridges above a bottomless chasm. He absent-mindedly shakes his head. Not only would it be slower, it’d also increase his chances of enderman incurred death by eye-contact. And he wasn’t exactly thrilled to increase those chances. 

He lets the chest shut as he rolls his head back to look at the ceiling of his shop. It was starting to look like his only option, but he’d have to think about it. 

Later on, he decides to distract himself by doing simple community jobs around the market. He decides to spruce up the riverbed he previously worked on, thinking of maybe making a small boathouse and dock. Maybe he could use trapdoors to make the dock have some variation in size and texture? Scar would be proud of him if he did, and maybe he could even--  
His thoughts are cut off as a crashing elytra clad man splashes head first into the river right in front of him.

“Aw hell…” The form mumbles as they float back up above the water. Python, agape, slowly stutters out a shocked; “Are you alright?” His voice is high and incredulous. 

The man in the water looks up and smiles, eyes bright. Now that Python can see him clearly, the pieces fit together. Red sweater, big wings, reckless abandon? Yes, this was the kid Python met at the beginning of this world, Grian. He looked so much different now, sun-kissed and warm grin. Nothing like the anxious boy he met before, eyes downcast and voice quiet.   
“I’m perfectly fine! Nothing but my pride is hurt.” He pouts, pulling wet pieces of paper out of his pockets. The soggy parchment tears in his hands effortlessly and Grian winces. Python can vaguely make out the word, “SAHARAH” on the paper before the ink blurs into obscurity. 

The red creeper-esc man chuckles, but pushes himself to the edge of the dryland and holds out a hand; “Sorry about your paper, mate!”   
Grian takes the hand gratefully and shakes the water off his wings when he’s pulled to land. 

“S’all right! I can make more, no problem. I’m more upset that the advertising bomb didn’t work.”   
“Advertising bomb?” Python asks, eyebrow raised. 

“Yeah! I was supposed to hit the ground next to you, have all the paper drop out so you picked up a bunch of it!”

“Thats a… interesting way to inform consumers.” Python tries, watching the paper in the water slowly drift down the current.

“Well, I wanted to promote the shop that Mumbo, Iskall, and I have made.” He shrugs.

“Shop?” Python questions again, head reeling. 

“Oh! I suppose you haven’t been in the loop,” Grian clears his throat and poses rather dramatically, “Coming to the Community Market soon is the newest, bestest,” Python isn’t sure that’s a word, ”most fantasticist,” That certainly isn’t a word, “general sale store to grace the Hermitcraft lands!” He holds his hands in front of himself and slowly shakes them away, slowly turning them into jazz hands, “Shop at Sahara today! Or, um, in maybe a week. I’m not sure.” 

Python hesitantly claps his clawed hands together, “Sounds great mate! It seems like you’ve done the job quite right anyway considering you’ve advertised your shop.” 

Grian stops for a moment, before his eyes widen, “You’re right! Oh my gosh-- Thank you Python! I just got an amazing idea!” And he begins to gather his things and scurry off up the hill behind them.   
“Wait- No- I--” And Grian is gone, out of ear-shot apparently. 

Python can’t help but feel slightly responsible for the multiple ‘Grian experienced kinetic energy’ and ‘Grian hit the ground too hard’ messages that pop up on his communication pad later that day. 

His first impression of the man wasn’t great, to say the least. 

Yet later that week when he’s doing some basic redstone work for Wels, the guy can’t seem to shut up about him. 

Python had expressed what Grian had previously told him, about being out of the loop, so when the redstone takes a complicated turn and they decide a break is needed, Python asks for an update on the recent events. 

And 90% of them include Grian. A head hunt, poultry man striking again, and most importantly; his elytra course. 

“You’re being serious.” Python says, but it sounds more curious than factual. 

“Completely.” Wels nods, uncorking a bottle of water and drinking down the contents, “He made the entire course and barely anyone has been able to reach his high score.” 

“The first day I met the guy, he fell face first into a freaking RIVER, Wels, you can imagine I’m suspicious about this.” He laughs. 

“I mean, he’s a bit of a knobhead sometimes,” Wels admits, unconsciously adjusting the straps on his gauntlet, “But I doubt anyone here is a better flyer then him. It’s like he was born with those wings.” He adds. 

Python purses his lips, but nods reluctantly.   
“D.. D’ya think he might be able to teach me some stuff?” He suggests, feeling like the words are strangled out of him. 

Wels looks at him shocked out from behind his knight visor he just put on. He thinks about it hard for a moment, eventually shrugging his shoulders, “Yeah I think so. He’s made Ren a better flyer for sure, with that bullshit course. And if I had to pick someone to fly for me, it’d be him.” It’s a light admission of awe, but one that Wels gives willingly. 

Python feels the suggestion wash over him and he tries not to make it obvious how anxious he’d be about that. The guy seemed too mania for his tastes, and pretty careless considering how easily he’d throw his life away for some campaign marketing. Something about him made him crazy worried. He snorts, probably the fact he divebombed in front of your eyes, bud, he thinks cynically. 

Wels catches his contemplation and places a gloved hand on his shoulder. “Don’t freak, man. Grian is a good guy. If you’re seriously upset with your flying abilities- I can’t think of anyone better to help you out. Certainly not me.” He chuckles at the last comment, clearly pleased when it draws a smile onto the creeper hybrid’s face.

Python sees worth in his words, so he pockets the suggestion in the back of his mind before digging through his inventory again. He pulls out another redstone repeater and nods to Wels, “Alright, well, I’ll think about it. Let’s get this finished first though.”   
Wels grins behind the helmet. “You got it, boss.” 

The modern and futuristic districts were pretty close, so getting close enough to see Grian’s base was as easy as visiting his own base. 

Except; Grian’s base didn’t have a water entrance. No places to dock the boat he’s had circling the base for the past hour, and he hates launching from the water. Eventually he scrounges up enough materials to climb up and get into the base, only to see Grian fly at top speed in from one of the open air windows. 

He fully expected Grian to crash, similar to the way the two of them met, but instead he flips upwards, flattens out the wings, and pulls back in time-- Landing on his two feet as if he was born with his talent. His wings flutter into a relaxed form and he brushes some leaves off of them. 

He doesn’t even see Python until said man speaks up. “That was amazing.” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth, unfortunately. Reflecting immediately, he burns up bright red (though he’s sure Grian doesn’t notice past the red stone tone of his flesh) and stutters out a, “The whole flying thing you do is great, w’dyoumind if you maybe taught me some things cause I keep end busting and I do it terribly and keep dying--maybe you’re okay with that but I’m not cause I keep losing all my shit and--” 

“Yeah of course!” 

Grian’s eyes are shining bright as Python’s worried voice mumbles off. 

“Yeah?” He asks again, just to be sure.

“Yeah! I was actually achin for something different to do. I’ve been grinding for some concrete for hours.” He groans, dusting off his hands on his black pants, not minding the leftover handprint on the fabric. 

“Oh! Perfect!” 

\--

“Okay, you’re doing great, Python!” 

Python was not doing great, but god was it endearing that Grian was at least trying to be encouraging. 

Rocking through the air as maybe as slow as 15 miles per hour, he tries to do what Grian taught him. Curl in the wings, lower your head, look at where you want to go…  
He hits head first into a tree and stumbles through the branches, barely hearing the sound of Grian’s shouting. Python’s ass hits the ground first, which is better then his head but definitely not good for his now extremely bruised tailbone. 

He doesn’t bother sitting up, instead letting his wings cushion his head as he lays back in the grass near the Sahara building. Python sees out of the corner of his eye that Grian walks over dejectedly, before laying down next to him. 

“That looks like it hurt.”   
“Oh it definitely did.”   
“... You land on your butt?”   
“Yeah. Yeah I did, Grian.” 

The level voice gives into a snort by the snake hybrid, and then turns into a chortling laughed joined by Grian’s laughter. The two of them curling in on themselves in laughter, holding their sides at the absolute absurdity of the situation, eventually slowing down until the two lay comfortably in the warm setting sun. They’ve been at work all day, Python gaining slow but sure progress. 

“Wanna give it one more go?” Grian asks, head tilting but eyes never leaving the bleeding sky. 

Python’s bruised and frustrated, but Grian’s light voice gives him that burst of hope like some ethereal five hour energy drink. 

“Alright. Once more.” 

Grian lines him up on the edge of the cliff that drops only five feet or so onto another grassy platform, leading to a dropoff into the ocean. The goal was to catch air on the five foot, turn back. Or, if he was feeling strong, go off the edge. 

Grian backs up, fireworks in hand, and gives him a nod. 

Python steps back a few, quickly lighting a match in one hand, and gripping the firework in another. He lined up the space, shoulders hunched. 

He could do this, he CAN do this! 

God, he was gonna die. 

Python sprints forward, not yet lighting off his firework, going for a short glide over the small hop-- feeling the gut-wrenching tug of panic when the wind caught under the prosthetic feathers and jerked him upwards. 

He tries to stay focused, trying to make his body parallel to the wings, head down, flatten the wings, look at where he wants to go…

Python’s instincts tell him to turn now. Claim the small win, get a pat on the back, don’t take the risk that the edge of the cliff gives him.

But if Grian has taught him anything, it’s that sometimes risks should be taken, consequences be damned. 

So Python doesn’t turn back, and eventually the passing green beneath him gives way to empty air and thousands of feet of sheer rock cliff and the rocking waves against the shoreline. 

And free air is absolutely terrifying, horrifying, unnerving, and somehow completely and utterly fucking BADASS

When you finally do it correctly, flying is fucking badass. 

“Gr-GRIAN I’M DOING IT!” He screams, hands outwards to level himself against the wind. He’s gliding further and further away from the land as he swoops in closer to the ocean. 

From far away, he hears; “Firework! Use your firework!” 

And he does, lighting it just soon enough to dip down and up, away from the cold embrace of the sea. Lifting up high enough to twist around comfortably. 

He turns around, letting the wind cradle him, and Python sees Grian lifting off behind him. Grian drifts over, pulling quick corkscrews to catch up to him. 

Python’s sure he looks like a madman, adrenaline rushing. “I’m doing it! For awhile!” He cheers, and Grian reciprocates. He holds out a hand with a handful of rockets that Python gladly takes. 

“Alright, now you’re gonna drop and use the momentum to get to the top of my place!” He shouted over the wind, pointing up to Grian’s tower. 

“What? Why?” Python gaped

“Cause we’re gonna go down the middle!” Grian grinned wolfishly and took off, not leaving any room for discussion. 

Python conceded, lighting up another rocket and dipping to follow Grian down across the sapphire water, then tilting the wings upwards to careen his way up the concrete tower, just catching the wind off of Grian’s back.

He crested the top, finally, attempting a small spin before thinking, maybe not, and landing as softly as he could on the grassy roof. 

Grian’s standing there already, practically leaping at him already.

“PYTHON! That was so sick! I can’t believe you did that-- Holy shit!” 

“I can’t either, honestly.” He says, slightly woozy still from the height. 

“Before you know it, you’ll be end busting like a pro again.” He replies confidently, hands on his hips. 

Python laughs, watching Grian shine with pride for someone he barely knows.

“You know, you’re a good guy, Grian.” 

He looks a little taken aback, obviously confused by the outburst. But he recovers and hums back, “You too Slither boy, we should hang out more.” 

“Not if you’re calling me Slither Boy.” 

“Try and stop me.” 

“If you call me that, I’m calling you Poultry Man.” 

“Wh- I’m not Poultry Man!”

“Sure.”

“IT’S THE MAN IN THE CHICKEN COSTUME!” He yelps, backpedaling off the roof, making sure to send Python a genuine smile as he drops off the side of the building and off back into the sky he clearly belongs in. 

Python watches as he becomes a mere dot in the setting sky, chest warm. Grian was honestly a nice guy, and he couldn’t wait for another reason to hang out with him again. 

“W-wait how do I get down from here…?”


End file.
